(Divoduron, in the land of the Mediomatrici)
Fronto could not help but wonder what it said about him in that he felt profound relief that the brutal murder of a Roman officer had at least changed the subject of their sparse conversations from the subject of marriage and Faleria. Had he become so jaded with his own society that even needless violence was a preferable alternative to the social niceties?
He felt sure Faleria would say yes.
But in answer to what?
Shaking his head in irritation, Fronto glanced across at Galronus, sitting astride his horse with a serene and even happy face. It seemed that he could not even keep off the subject within the seclusion of his own skull.
His eyes drifted back ahead to the tribal capital of the Mediomatrici that loomed ahead of them. Having spent most of the preceding hours riding across a refreshingly flat plain, Divoduron showed the signs of having been founded by a man with an eye for tactical advantage. Curved like a misshapen horseshoe, the huge oppidum occupied the heights of a small range of high, wooded hills that rose like a barrier, crossing the great plain. The only clear pass in view from left to right marched directly through the huge fortified settlement. The Mediomatrici controlled the gateway to the flat lands on either side; a powerful position.
The Roman officers who had brought the army here from winter quarters as an assembly point had wisely avoided the crown of hills and settled for the flat land below for their numerous temporary camps. But the presence of eight legions and their endless support units, supply trains, cavalry corrals and suchlike seemed to have sparked this powerful oppidum into a frenzy of mercantile activity. The winding road that snaked up the pass to the Gallic settlement was dotted with small groups of pack animals – trade caravans taking advantage of the demand created by so many thousands of men. Here and there, a glittering, silvery glint betrayed the presence of Roman troops moving up and down the hill. Clearly Caesar had been magnanimous and allowed his men the luxury of utilising the oppidum’s stores, taverns and women of low repute during their off-duty time.
From above it must look like an ant’s nest.
Galronus’ face blossomed into a curious smile. Slowly, inexorably, they were drawing closer to the lands of the Remi, his tribe. Fronto wondered if they would even recognise him now.
Galronus as a brother in law? It was not that he objected at all. And he liked to think of himself as a very accepting and understanding man. And yet, Fronto had found a small but insistent voice deep down in his soul that screamed denial at the idea of Gaulish blood running in a Roman family. Suppress the thought as much as he could, he still could not kill it, and this strangely intolerant deep-seated fear worried him more than anything else.
He suddenly realised that Galronus was watching him with a questioning brow and wondered what expression he had been wearing in his musings.
Forcing a thoughtful smile back on to his face, he concentrated on the approaching fortified camps. The nearest palisade held no vexillum, and the few men patrolling the rampart were clearly Gallic. The presence of corrals of hundreds of horses confirmed that the camp belonged to the allied Gallic cavalry. Beyond, the next two nearest bore the crimson standards of the legions, followed along the road by another group of horse pens and palisaded enclosures.
‘This your bunch?’ Fronto asked quietly, nodding at the nearest gate. There seemed to be no way to identify which auxiliary unit was which, there being so many allied Gallic horsemen compared to the few Roman cavalry, and it was only when Galronus nodded and pointed out a small group of pole-arms bearing stylised bronze boars that he could see a difference.
‘We present ourselves to Caesar first, though, Marcus. It is fitting for a commander, and we must speak to the general of his nephew.’
Fronto nodded unhappily. That was a conversation he was hardly looking forward to. They had stayed in Vienna only long enough to make sure that Pinarius made it onto a proper funeral pyre and that an appropriate urn had been purchased, then had left instructions with the priest of Jupiter as the only official to whom Fronto felt he could entrust the task. The task of placing a coin in the mouth of the deceased had fallen to Fronto and he had carefully selected a nice, shiny denarius for the journey.
‘The general’s waited weeks for us. He can wait an hour longer. I want to find Priscus and Carbo first. I like to go into any briefing fully aware of everything going on first, and Priscus will know everything down to whose cloak the rats are nesting in.’
Galronus looked doubtful for a moment but then, acquiescing to the will of his friend, they rode on past the cavalry encampment, toward the central fort, larger than the others, and bearing the great gold and red Taurus flag that indicated the presence of the general.
The central camp bore also the standards of the Eighth, Ninth and Tenth legions – apart from the notable absence of the Seventh, the core of Caesar’s force; the veteran legions. The guards at the gate moved to block the entrance at the approach of two riders, despite the military tunics they wore. Fronto prepared himself and took a deep breath to announce their ranks as the transverse crest of a centurion appeared over the parapet above the gate, the shining bronze of the helmet slightly duller than the shiny pink of the chubby face.
‘Open the gate for Legate Fronto of the Tenth!’ he bellowed before descending the turf rampart, disappearing from sight.
The legionaries at the gate stepped back into position, throwing out a salute to the two officers, and Fronto nodded at them as he passed within, wondering if they were men of the Tenth, given the presence of their primus pilus.
Carbo, remarkably neat and polished, appeared around the gate side and came to attention with a salute and a half-smile.
‘Legate. All officers are required to attend the general upon arrival.’ Turning to the gate guard, he gestured with his vine staff. ‘It’s a bloody shambles. Get that walkway cleared of crap and clean out oven number two. I shall be having a word with your officer. Any more of this slovenliness and I’ll be reducing pay at such an alarming rate that you’ll be paying me by October!’
By the time he turned back to Fronto and Galronus, who were dismounting, he wore a happy grin.
‘Gotta keep ‘em on their toes sir, eh?’
A harassed-looking legionary hurried over and took their reins for them, others grasping for their pack animals behind.
‘Come on, sirs’ Carbo said loudly and gestured up the main thoroughfare to the gathering of large tents at the centre, dotted about with the general’s horse guard. As soon as they were out of sight of the gate, the centurion wiped his brow. I expect you’ll be wanting to check in with myself after the general, yes, sir?’
Fronto nodded. ‘I will, Carbo, but first I want to go find Priscus. Any idea where he might be?’
Carbo pointed to one of the tents ahead. ‘That’s his tent there, sir. He’s just finished morning inspection of the camps, so he’ll be there. It’s astounding how many things he can find wrong, legate.’
Fronto smiled for the first time that day.
‘Giving you a hard time, eh? He has to, Carbo. Having come from the Tenth, he can’t be seen to be showing favouritism.’
‘Don’t I know it, sir? He was never this tough when he was my commander. I shall be at the Tenth’s principia tent when you require me.’
Fronto nodded as the man strode off toward his own command.
‘See who lurks nearby’ Galronus muttered, leaning close. Fronto followed his gaze and narrowed his eyes. Centurion Fabius leaned against a tethering post close to the command section, idly picking his teeth with a splinter from a stick.
‘I think we can afford another moment's detour.’ Fronto smiled unpleasantly, and angled toward the officer. Fabius, a dour-looking man with dark stubble reaching almost from eyes to collar, turned a pale ice-blue, piercing gaze on Fronto and straightened with an almost deliberately insolent slowness, throwing out a salute. He was unarmoured and unarmed apart from his vine staff, his tousled iron grey hair waving in the gentle breeze.
‘Fabius?’
‘Legate Fronto. I trust you had a good journey?’
Fronto nodded. He had seen the attitude before: borderline insolent, full of hidden disdain, with a faint sneer. It was an expression career soldiers, and centurions in particular, reserved for the noble classes who liked to play commander without any real hint of military sense. Fabius could hardly be expected to view Fronto any differently, but it did little to prevent Fronto’s dislike of the dark officer growing to almost boiling point.
‘Been in camp long, Fabius?’
‘Four days, sir. Made good time. Left our luggage to come on later with the supply train and just brought a saddlebag, sir. Like you, apparently.’
‘Did you travel alone then?’
‘Yessir. For speed.’
‘Dangerous, given the unsettled nature of Gaul.’ The centurion shrugged as if to suggest that he found more dangerous things than barbarian Gaul in his boot. ‘And the tribunes you were with at Massilia?’
Fabius shrugged nonchalantly. ‘The two junior tribunes got a message at the staging post in Massilia and rushed off ahead even of us. I think they were authorised to use courier horses and change mounts. They had been here for days when we arrived. I think the senior tribune bloke was going to knock around in Massilia for a bit before he set off. Didn’t seem too inclined to rush.’
Fronto frowned and wished Priscus was with him. His former chief centurion claimed to be able to identify lies, and the results of dice games with him suggested it was true. Though Fronto would be prepared to put a month’s wage on there being an untruth or half-truth there, he could not confirm it.
‘Anything else, sir?’
Fronto glared at that smug smile, wondering momentarily whether he could legitimately get away with wiping it away with a right hook. The glare sliding into a sullen frown, he folded his arms and straightened.
‘No. If you see Menenius and his ferret-brained friend can you ask them to come and find me.’
The man’s parting salute carried, if anything, even more insolence and spite than his opening one, but Fronto ignored it and turned back, gesturing to Galronus as the pair strode on to the camp prefect’s tent ahead.
Two of Aulus Ingenuus’ praetorian cavalry guard stood outside Priscus’ tent, rigid and armed for war, their crimson plumes whipping in the breeze. Their spears crossed as the two men approached, barring the way. Fronto came to a halt and nodded at them.
‘Marcus Falerius Fronto, legate of the Tenth, and Galronus, commander of the allied Gallic horse to see the camp prefect.’
‘The prefect’s left orders he is not to be disturbed, legate, I’m afraid.’
Fronto glared at the man and cleared his throat.
‘Priscus!’ he bellowed. There was a sudden crash and a thud in the tent as of something heavy toppling over.
‘Fronto?’ came a slightly muffled voice.
‘Let us in!’
A moment passed before the tent door was heaved aside and Priscus’ face appeared in the gap. His eyes were underlined with dark circles, his face pale and unhealthy, and his hair knotted and uncombed.
‘You took your bloody time. Get in here.’
Fronto shared a look with Galronus as the camp prefect disappeared inside once more and the two guards saluted and straightened, removing the obstacle from their path.
* * * * *
Priscus had returned to a large desk and was busy trying to gather a pile of wooden writing tablets that had fallen to the floor, though they kept slipping from his grasp in comedic fashion. Fronto and Galronus stood in the tent’s entrance and took in the sight.
Priscus had the look of a man extremely short on sleep and bothered. Somehow it was extremely odd seeing their old friend dressed in the leather tunic and pteruges of a senior officer, his burnished cuirass and helmet standing on one of a number of wooden cabinets around the tent.
‘You need a hand, Gnaeus?’
‘Just sit down and let me get these put away’ Priscus snapped, returning to grumbling under his breath as he replaced the tablets on the table, then rearranged them half a dozen times until he was satisfied that they were in the correct order. His gaze then strayed up from them to his visitors and he slapped his hands down on the oak surface, leaning heavily.
‘Paetus may have been trouble, but the man must have had a mind like a damn librarian. How he kept all this straight, I have no idea. I’d just about got things set over the winter quarters, then we move here and it starts all over again. It’s a never-ending bloody task. The last time I slept we had different consuls, I’m sure.’
Fronto smiled benignly. ‘I suspect you’re taking on more than you need to. I understand you’ve been interfering in the quartermaster’s duties too?’
‘I had to’ Priscus snapped irritably. ‘You have no idea how damn disorganised it all was. Whatever I needed was always ‘on the way’ or ‘snagged up in transport at Massilia’ or ‘not available until next month’. Cita’s organisation is a pissing joke! Caesar’s trying to foist a number of assistants on me to play camp prefect for each legion; says that’s what Pompey always did. But that just means I have eight more disorganised idiots to tidy up after, so I’ve set them all to counting things just to piss off Cita and his assistants.’
Fronto could not stifle his short laugh and Galronus was starting to smile now.
‘Can you give me a quick rundown on what’s happening before I go see Caesar?’
Priscus narrowed his eyes. ‘You haven’t been yet?’
Fronto shook his head, and Priscus scratched his chin and then slumped into a seat. ‘You’d best hurry then; he’ll be twitching for you to turn up.’
‘Fine. Just give me a quick list, then. Note form if you need to.’
Priscus leaned back and scratched his head.
‘Well you’ll see that all eight legions are here, along with the cavalry, though they’re all a bit depleted since Caesar settled his veterans and almost half the Gallic horse have disbanded now that the uprisings have been quashed. Their contract to the general was complete and Caesar thought it politic to let them return to their tribes.’
‘Aye, we’ve seen the forces. And I know there’s some trouble with the Germanic tribes. Go on.’
‘Well, there’s the Seventh. At Caesar’s behest, I’ve spent the entire winter trying to identify any soldier that has any Pompeian connection or uncertain history and transferring them all to the Seventh. Appropriately, most of the veterans and solid men of the Seventh have now been moved out and dispersed among the other legions. It’s been a bureaucratic nightmare.’
‘Who has been given command of this rotten legion, then?’ asked Galronus quietly.
‘Who else? Cicero. With his ties to the knobs in Rome who’re speaking out against the general, he was an obvious choice.’
‘I thought Cicero was bound for the Eighth since Balbus left?’
‘Young Brutus has managed to secure the Eighth. Spent half the winter badgering the general by letter, I gather, and started in person as soon as Caesar arrived. They seem quite happy with him. The Seventh is a bit restive, mind.’
‘Not surprised. They’ll have plenty of chances to prove their loyalty, I suspect. I’m guessing that two new centurions by the name of Furius and Fabius are now in the Seventh? Anything else? What about the Tenth?’
Priscus shrugged. ‘Tenth are as good as they’re ever going to be without me sticking a vine staff up their arse on morning parade. Carbo’s a good man. I’ve got him terrorising the worst layabouts. And yes, there’s two new veteran centurions with the Seventh, as well as a few optios and legionaries. You met them then?’
‘The pair travelled with us a way. I’d trust them about as far as I could reasonably spit a donkey. Pompeians through and through.’
Priscus nodded. ‘Pompeians they may be, but those two centurions have a hell of an impressive record. Might be just what the Seventh need if they’re going to prove themselves.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Nothing you won’t hear when the Gauls arrive to speak to the general – I expect he’ll tell you about that. Anyway, I am busy, so you’d best go present yourselves before Caesar starts to get angry. I’ll be along shortly.’
Fronto glanced at Galronus as Priscus turned back to his bureaucracy, acutely aware that they had just been summarily dismissed by a theoretically inferior officer. The two men shrugged and, ignored by the camp prefect, strode out of the office and turned to make for the large command tent nearby, guarded by six of Ingenuus’ cavalrymen.
The men to either side of the door straightened and crossed their spears again as the two men approached and Fronto drew in a deep breath to announce himself just as the familiar, tight and strained voice of the general issued from the tent.
‘Fronto? Get in here.’
Galronus smiled at him as the two guardsmen straightened and removed the impediment, allowing them to enter the slightly dim, spacious interior. The general was clearly in his element. Always invigorated by the commencement of a military campaign, and animated in his planning of such, Caesar moved energetically to the desk, his eyes bright, and leaned his back against it, crossing his arms. His hair seemed to have receded a little further over the winter, but otherwise he appeared as young and vital as ever he had.
‘I was starting to think about sending out scouts to try and find you, Marcus.’ His sole concession to Galronus’ presence was a respectful nod in his direction.
‘We came with good speed, Caesar, barring a two day layover at Massilia to visit Balbus.’
‘And how is Quintus? Well, I hope? In truth I had hoped to pay him a visit myself on my journey north, though events beyond my control required me to reach the army with all speed.’ His face took on a sly smile. ‘But then, I suspect you had a more pressing need to speak to him than I. How is the lovely Lucilia?’
Fronto felt the colour rise to his face and once more damned his own blood for it.
‘She’s good Caesar. Look, I’m sorry about this, but there’s some bad news we have to deliver before anything else happens.’
Caesar nodded. ‘Best get on with it then.’
Fronto looked at Galronus, who shrugged uncertainly. Turning back to the general, he clenched his fists by his side.
‘It’s about your nephew, Caesar.’
‘Young Pinarius? I’d assumed he’d come with you. Don’t tell me the half-wit’s got himself waylaid.’
‘I’m sorry, Caesar, but it’s worse than that. I’m afraid he’s dead.’
‘Dead?’ The general never even flinched. His eyebrow arched slightly, but the only other sign that the news was of import was a slight whitening of the knuckles as he gripped his own elbows. ‘How?’
‘He was found in a tavern cellar in Vienna, general. He had been stabbed deliberately. I saw the body myself. I’d put good money on the murder weapon being a standard issue pugio, the blow delivered by a professional hand, and I have some theories as to the reason. Galronus and I have been mulling it over as we travelled. There’s these two centurions…’
‘It’s damned inconvenient.’
Fronto blinked. ‘Caesar?’
The general unfolded his arms and tapped his chin with two fingers thoughtfully.
‘Very inconvenient. Oh, not for you, of course. I’m sure you’ll be happier without a senior tribune for the Tenth. And Priscus will be happy not to have to deal with him. But I’ll have to write to his mother and his wife. Young Domitia will be beside herself. Pinarius may have been a waste of good skin and bone, but she loved him for some reason, and he gave her a son. Inconvenient.’
‘’Inconvenient’?’ Fronto said with a dangerous edge to his tone.
‘Indeed. Oh Fronto, stop looking so offended. You’ve barely met the man. I doubt he’d have lasted very long out here anyway. Julia pushed me into giving him a term in command, and my sister usually gets what she wants in the end. Now perhaps I’ll get no more family members foisted on me.’
Fronto felt the old familiar anger rising and it was with some difficulty that he forced his abhorrence at the general’s off-hand, casual dismissal of the matter down into his deep, seething soul, where it could fester until the next time he had cause to explode at the republic’s favourite son. It would only be a matter of time, after all.
‘Do you wish an investigation into the matter?’ he asked tightly.
‘If you want to, be my guest, Marcus, but don’t let it interfere with more important matters. Great things are afoot. The Germanic tribes are moving and threatening our hard-won peace. I’m interested to see what the Gallic noblemen have to say to me before we consider repeating our chastisement of Ariovistus, however.’
Fronto’s hard gaze remained on the general. ‘What is the current situation then, Caesar? Are we to move out shortly? I’ve not seen signs of decamping.’
The general shook his head and folded his arms again.
‘The Gallic tribes near the Rhenus have a large force of Germanic tribesmen encamped in their lands. Mostly they are bulk infantry of the type we have encountered before, though apparently, these tribes…’ he closed his eyes in a moment of recall ‘the Ubii, the Usipetes and the Tencteri – also have a form of cavalry. I am led to believe that they do not use their horse the same as us, but dismount for the fight. I enquired of my sources as to how effective that could possibly be, but I am given to understand that they are fearsome indeed.’
Fronto nodded. ‘So what are the local Gauls doing about them?’
‘Mostly cowering in their huts’ Caesar said, surprisingly without a sneer. ‘These trans-Rhenal tribes have a dangerous reputation, Marcus. They have been preying on the more peaceful tribes for centuries. I understand that their people divide into two groups and alternate annually between breeding horses and feed animals, and raiding and fighting. Essentially, their tribes have not seen a peaceful season in a hundred generations.’
Galronus, next to Fronto, nodded.
‘The Tencteri I am particularly familiar with, general. They are bred for war. They live for war and pillage. They have learned these ways from the Suevi, a tribe that lives in the wastes beyond, to the east, and whom you should pray to your gods that you never meet. I have heard tales in Rome that the Germanic tribes are all six feet tall or more, with the bodies of Vulcan, flame red hair, and are weaned on the blood of their enemies. Not so for many tribes, but the Suevi are the source of those tales. Among the Belgae they are the ghouls of childhood tales.’
Caesar nodded thoughtfully. ‘Fortunate for us, then, that we face only these other three tribes. What do you think of them, master Galronus?’
‘The Tencteri are dangerous and warlike, and the Usipetes almost the same. The Ubii are more civilised. They have traded with the Belgae for many decades, and have often shown restraint. However, if they have crossed the Rhenus, it is because the Suevi forced them, and that will mean they are desperate. And desperate men are unpredictable and dangerous.’
Fronto tried to take it all in but, as was often the case in briefings such as this, the names battered at his skull, refusing to sink into the brain matter within. His soldier’s brain distilled it for him in the moment’s silence that followed.
‘So you’re telling me that the Suevi are essentially monsters from nightmare, and they have pushed three tribes that are lesser-nightmare-monsters across the river, where they’ve frightened the locals enough that they hide? Is that the upshot?’
Caesar smiled benevolently.
‘Succinct as ever, Marcus. But furthermore, I received visitors from those tribes on whose lands they settled. Two days ago, men came to seek our help.’
The general’s smile was the old wolf grin that Fronto recognised instantly. It was that satisfied smile Caesar wore when everything he had pushed for and hoped for had fallen into place, giving him exactly what he wanted.
‘They asked you to go to war with these Uspi-thingies and their friends?’
‘They had sent their own ambassadors, offering the invaders chattels, food, weapons, warriors, herds and much more just to return across the Rhenus; a cowardly offer, of course. These tribes are unwilling to return to their own lands, as their nightmare enemies from the east await them there. But even should they not be, why would they leave the lands of men so weak as to try and buy their absence? No, the Ubii and their allies simply accepted such weakness for what it was, and expanded the area of land they were depredating to take in more Gallic tribes.’
‘We’ve pacified Gaul and thus left it open to new predators’ Fronto said quietly. ‘We’ve killed off or conscripted so many of their warriors they no longer have the strength to defend themselves from other tribes. It is not weakness that drove them to it, Caesar. It was our conquest that did that.’
A tiny flash of flint passed across Caesar’s eyes, but his smile, cold though it was, was quick to come.
‘You have a way with words, Fronto. If only you could dress them up a little, what an orator you would make in the senate. But your words I accept as a possibility. I would then urge you to question why, when our conquest was complete and all rebellion had ended, I continued to keep all eight legions wintered in the north of Gaul? We must hold on to the peace with a warlike hand, Marcus.’
Fronto nodded wearily. He had wished he could have thought of that when discussing the motives of the general with Balbus. It made so much sense when the general said it.
‘So what’s next, Caesar? We march on them?’
Caesar shook his head. ‘Not yet, Marcus. I have sent out couriers to summon the Gallic council to Divoduron. Gaul is under Roman protection,’ his eyes flicked uncertainly to Galronus for a moment and then back, ‘but it is still important for the kings and chieftains of Gaul to make the decisions about their lands and people. We can help, advise, support and protect, but, within the aegis of the Roman Republic, these people still rule themselves. The Gallic council must decide what to do about the invaders and make a formal request of myself as the proconsul. Only then can we legitimately move.’
Fronto frowned at the general even as he nodded. Caesar had to satisfy the senate that he was still working within their remit, in order to stem the troubles being stirred constantly in Rome, but how much of such courtesy was spoken for the benefit of Galronus as a prince of the Remi? What might Caesar have been inclined to say had the Gallic officer not been present?
Caesar smiled.
‘And our army is a little depleted by years of campaigning, settling veterans, and releasing our allied cavalry from their duties. I have had some success with recruitment, despite the limits continually imposed upon me by the senate, but if the council does wish us to go to war for them, I will have to request that they supply me with further cavalry forces. I’m sure Galronus will appreciate a bolstering of his forces?’
The Remi noble nodded silently, and Fronto tried unsuccessfully to look behind those unreadable eyes to see what lay within.
‘Very well, Marcus. I suspect you have a few weeks before the council arrive, despite my asking that they come with all speed. I suggest that you reacquaint yourself with your command during that time. And possibly experience the scrape of the razor once again. You are starting to look Germanic.’
* * * * *
Fronto and Galronus stepped out of the command tent into the bright sunshine, blinking, grateful to breathe the relatively fresh air of the camp.
‘You coming for a drink?’
The Remi officer shook his head ‘I’ll return to my cavalry. There will be much to oversee and discuss. Perhaps I shall find you later.’
Fronto watched his friend stroll off toward the south gate once more, marvelling yet again at just how well the man fitted in among the Roman forces. His Latin was now fluent, even with a hint of an Oscan twang that had probably come from hanging around with Fronto so much. He was, admittedly, much neater and cleaner-shaven than Fronto himself.
With a small smile, he turned and strode down toward the camp of the Tenth. The sound of Carbo venting spleen at some misplaced piece of equipment rose from somewhere among the tents, but really the Tenth was as perfectly organised and efficient as ever. Fronto began to wonder, as he moved along the neat lines of tents, whether Priscus was perhaps leaning a little too heavily on the Tenth, even given the situation.
Rounding a corner and reaching the area of the command section, he was both surprised and pleased as one of the tribunes’ tent flaps swung open and the young, energetic figure of Tetricus emerged, almost stumbling into his commander.
‘Fron… sir!’ Tetricus pulled himself up straight into a salute.
‘Gaius’ Fronto grinned. ‘Good to see you. You busy?’
Tetricus’ eyes flashed back and forth conspiratorially. ‘With respect sir, it doesn’t do to be anything other than busy. Even for a tribune. Priscus has eyes everywhere and if anyone sits down for a rest, they acquire a new job in moments.’
Fronto sighed and grinned. ‘I think I’m going to have to have a word with the new camp prefect. Paetus knew how to do his job without impeding the legates and senior officers of a legion. Priscus seems to be trying to be the primus pilus of all eight legions and the support forces.’
He laughed. ‘Anyway. Here’s a new job for you: go find the usual reprobates and ask them to come join me for a catch-up and a drink. You too; and Priscus, if he can walk this far with that stick up his arse.’
Tetricus smiled with relief. ‘Varus and Brutus in particular have been waiting for you to get here, Marcus. I’ll bring everyone along shortly.’
Fronto nodded as Tetricus threw him another quick salute and ran off in search of their various friends. Shaking his head in exasperation at the effect Priscus’ promotion seemed to be having on the army, Fronto turned and strode between the tribunes’ tents to his own, where he was surprised to find four men standing in quiet conversation outside.
Labienus had changed little, though his face was a little more drawn and a haunted shadow seemed to flick around his eyes. His smile as he spotted Fronto was as friendly as ever, though. The man beside him was faintly familiar, though Fronto could not say from where, and his eyes lingered on the man only long enough to realise that, despite his Roman officer’s mode of dress and clean-shaven face, his hair was braided in the Gallic fashion, and the telltale bulge of a neck torc showed beneath his tunic. One of the cavalry, most likely, and doubtless an officer if Fronto recognised him.
The bigger surprise for a moment was the presence of the tribunes from the Fourteenth, Menenius and Hortius. They stood in easy conversation, hands on hips as though in friendly banter, and it took a moment for Fronto to remember that he had asked them to come.
Labienus stepped out of the group, somewhat rudely interrupting Menenius, who appeared to be extolling the virtues of some sculptor or other.
‘Marcus. By Mercury’s wings, it’s good to see you. I had word that you’d returned.’
Fronto noticed the way the Gallic officer beside him stepped forward like a shadow imitation of Labienus and wondered whether it was a move informed by desire to stay close to the staff officer whom he obviously knew, or more by the need to stay away from the mindless chatter of the two tribunes who seemed to be quietly discussing something that made the pair of them giggle like girls at a bawdy house.
‘Titus’ he smiled at the senior officer. ‘Good to see you too. Would you like to step inside and I’ll join you in a moment. I’ve not been in yet, but if Carbo’s following his standing orders, there’ll be a dozen cups and two amphorae of good Latin wine.’
Labienus raised a questioning eyebrow, his eyes flicking momentarily to the two tribunes, and then he nodded, his gaze searching out the meaning in Fronto’s dour expression and finding none.
‘Come, Piso. Let us avail ourselves of Fronto’s wine. He always has an excellent stock. Hopefully he’s got water for it too, though you can never be too sure with Fronto.’
With a smile and a last curious glance, Labienus escorted Piso inside.
Fronto waited until the two tribunes finally noticed he was watching, and then beckoned them with a crooked finger and turned, walking toward Tetricus’ tent nearby. Lifting the flap, he motioned for the two fops to enter and then followed them in, allowing the flap to drop behind them.
Tetricus’ tent was exactly as Fronto would have expected. The engineer’s logical, analytical mind was reflected perfectly in his surroundings: every item in the interior placed with precision and nothing out of place. A wooden cabinet stood to one side with half a dozen drawers. A rack for two dozen scrolls stood on top and it crossed Fronto’s mind for a moment to pry, before he forced the urge away.
The two tribunes stood, looking somewhat befuddled, in the centre of the tent, almost lost in the dim light.
Fronto walked round them in a circle, looking them up and down. He was not sure exactly what he expected to find, but he needed to be sure that these two men had nothing to do with Pinarius’ death. The two tribunes watched him move like a prospective buyer at the slave market, probably wondering if he was going to open their mouths to examine their teeth.
Both men wore white leather tunics with white pteruges hanging in two rows from both waist and shoulders, each strip edged with gold and ending in a gilded fringe; ostentatious in the extreme. Though they wore no cuirass, helm or greaves, their boots were enclosed, soft leather efforts, a fleece lining poking from the top. Under normal circumstances, they would have attracted the same disparaging mental comments as the tunics in Fronto’s mind, but he was also painfully aware of their similarity to the boots he currently wore, courtesy of Lucilia’s mania for renovating him. Perhaps he could acquire a new pair of boots from Cita and start pissing them into shape over this summer? He made a mental note to do so.
He frowned as he sniffed. Rose petals and camphor? It was a cloying scent. He wondered for a moment why the two men stood together wearing scents that combined to such appalling effect until he realised that, in fact, both men wore the combination individually. His eyes watering, he stepped back and faced them.
‘Tell me about your journey.’
The two tribunes exchanged a slightly baffled look, and then Hortius smiled.
‘I had a piebald mare. I called her Aphrodite, because she was so sleek and beautiful. I used to have a horse like her on the estate at Alba Fucens, only I called her Hector, because I was initially confused about sex, and…’
Fronto pinched the bridge of his nose and held up his hand to stop the tribune, who may well still be a little confused about sex as far as Fronto was concerned.
‘Too much background detail, Hortius. Tell me about Massilia to Divoduron.’
Menenius smiled. ‘He cannot help it, legate. He likes horses. We were rather swift actually. I went into Massilia, but not to the military staging post. You see my uncle, who was a praetor two years ago, retired to a villa above Massilia and he has enormous influence with both the Greek council there and the local officials at Arelate. I managed to secure us a constant change of horses at the courier stations until we passed Vienna, where we purchased several fast horses and just gave the tired ones to some poor sad-looking local each time we changed mounts thereafter. It’s amazing what a little money and influence can achieve.’
Fronto held his tongue, his own opinion of nepotistic and monied influence being unlikely to sit well with these two.
‘So you were here before any of us.’
‘I would imagine so.’
‘And you travelled alone, through Gaul? With no escort?’
Menenius frowned in incomprehension. ‘Yes. Gaul is conquered, and no uneducated barbarian would interfere with a Roman officer on official duty. You took an escort?’
Fronto blinked. ‘Well, no. But I had a Gaul with me, and anyway, we’re more…’ his voice tailed off as he could find no way of saying what sprang to mind without levelling an insult or two at the pair. ‘Fair enough. What of Publius Pinarius Posca?’
Hortius’ brow furrowed. ‘Pinarius? Did he not travel with those two burly brutes of centurions? He stayed in Massilia to see the sights; wouldn’t accept our offer of relay horses. I think, to be quite honest, that he’s not quite the man we all are, eh, legate? Cannot imagine young Pinarius riding a horse. Probably had a silk-lined wagon.’
The two men burst into an annoying cacophony of snorts and giggles at the idea of Caesar’s wet nephew riding a courier horse. Fronto rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to complain about being lumped in with them as ‘men’ almost as heavily as the urge to try and beat some sense of military decorum into them..
‘Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know.’
The two men slowly recovered from their humour and shrugged.
‘Any time, legate, my lovely.’
Fronto managed to leave the tent somehow, miraculously, without laying a hand on either of them. He found himself simply grateful that they were not assigned to the Tenth, else he would have buried them both up to their necks in a latrine trench before they ever got as far as war.
The two men exited behind him and moved across the camp, giggling like idiots while Fronto, still breathing deeply in annoyance, strolled back toward his tent.
Throwing the flap aside, he found Labienus and his friend sitting in camp chairs beside his table, with cups of wine, a third poured ready for him. With a nod of thanks, he sank gratefully onto his bunk, undoing his boots and letting them drop to the floor. Labienus shuffled his chair a few feet further away, his eyes quickly beginning to water.
‘New boots, Marcus?’
‘Bloody women’ was his sole reply as he let the other fall, peeled off the now-greyed woollen socks and wiggled his toes, releasing a fresh waft of four-day stink.
‘There’s a bath tub in a bathing tent in the command section for senior officers, Marcus, and there’s always heated water ready.’
‘How nice.’
‘So if you’d like to scrub off your journey first…?’
‘No, you’re alright, Titus. I need to rest and have a few cups first.’
Labienus glanced across at his friend, who had also moved his chair a few feet further away.
‘I’d like you to meet Piso, Marcus. He’s a chieftain among the Aquitani and now one of the senior cavalry commanders along with Varus and Galronus. They’ll command a wing each, with Varus in overall charge, of course.’
Fronto nodded his greeting, scratching his toes and rubbing his feet with a free hand while consuming the prepared wine with the other, noting with distaste how Labienus had already watered it for him.
‘I thought I’d best introduce you. There are still a great number of blinkered officers in this army who will not consider a non-Roman officer worthy of their attention, but I know you’re not one of them. Galronus, after all…’
Fronto nodded as he placed the cup on the table and stretched back on his bunk.
‘Pleased to meet you, Piso. You seem, like Galronus, to be a man fond of our custom?’
Piso shrugged. ‘In weaponry, art and devotion to the gods, the Aquitani will always be paramount, but I am not beyond being able to see the advantage of a comfortable tunic and a clean-shaven neck. It is my staunch belief that both Roman and Gaul have much to learn from one another.’
Fronto smiled appreciatively and nodded toward Labienus.
‘A seductive viewpoint that our officer friend here has propounded to me before.’
‘Marcus, there’s a particular reason I wanted you to meet Piso. Beyond being an embodiment of what I see for the future of Gaul.’
Something in Labienus’ tone made Fronto sit up straight. The staff officer looked nervous; pensive.
‘What is it, Titus?’
‘Did you know that Caesar continues to draw more levies from the tribes of Gaul, Marcus?’
‘Well, yes. He needs them to push the Germanic tribes back out.’
‘Fronto, Caesar could deal with those invaders with two legions and a single cavalry wing. Do you not think it’s time to put the future of Gaul back in the hands of the Gauls?’
Fronto frowned. ‘That’s what he’s doing. He’s summoned the Gallic council so they can decide whether to ask for our help.’
‘Marcus, don’t be so blind. Listen to yourself. Caesar has ‘summoned’ the kings of Gaul. Only a despot can do that. Caesar places himself above those kings. He only panders to them because he is not yet strong enough to oppose the senate!’
Fronto’s stomach knotted and he felt a sudden cold shiver run down his spine. This conversation was starting to sound disturbingly familiar.
‘Have you been listening to Cicero and his brother? This is a dangerous path to walk, Titus, and I don’t want to hear anything more about it.’
Labienus shook his head and poured Fronto another cup of wine. ‘I’m not advocating mutiny or anything like that, Marcus, but I think we need to start questioning the general on his motives and actions and perhaps try to persuade him toward the path of reason. We need to bring him back into concord with the senate before things turn ugly.’
‘Enough, Titus. You’re one of the general’s most senior lieutenants. Don’t say anything else you might learn to regret.’
‘But Marcus…’
‘Enough, Titus! I think the pair of you had best leave now before the others get here.’
Labienus rose slowly from his chair, alongside Piso. Before exiting the tent, he paused and turned back, pointing a finger at Fronto. ‘Think on it, Marcus.’
Before Fronto could shout angrily at him, the two slipped out, leaving Fronto seething and uncertain. What was this damned army he had come back to? It barely resembled the one he had left last autumn.